Curry, roast beef, and smegging ice cream!
by RimmerDuranPotter
Summary: Rimmer and Lister are two technicians aboard mining vessel; Red Dwarf. However, the appalling repair of the various Chicken Soup vending machines placed around the ship hasn't done their reputation any good. But when Rimmer comes down with a sometimes deadly insanity virus, things take a turn for the worse...
1. Hot Pot

_**Okay, I really can't see the progress with this; not only does it contain Petersen's name spelt incorrectly throughout, but the concepts involved are also inaccurate (however, I'd like to point out that the feature in JMC Weekly is purposely incorrect for the irony, just in case you don't realise). I don't know where this thing's gonna finish, and I'm afraid it makes me cringe just thinking about it. Read ahead if you want; you might enjoy it, but the chances of me making any more progress on this are very very slim indeed. I will keep it on here as a landmark for my first fanfiction, although now I'm moving onto better, higher-quality Red Dwarf and the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy fanfics (you can find them through my profile if you're interested).**_  
_**Like I said, read on if you want, it's fairly enjoyable, just don't expect a resolved ending...**_  
"Chicken Soup please", The exhausted officer was just one of the people waiting in the 32 strong line that stretched right to the doors of the landing gantry. He had been helping out lower-ranking workers prepare a White Giant for a five-year-long trip to the nearest planet to collect some basic supplies, and after all that work he was hungry. Very hungry indeed.  
"Chicken Soup!" He ordered again, this time with a slight snarl in his voice. The vending machine let out a large belch then replied reluctantly: "Use the time wisely! Woof woof!".  
The officer kicked the machine in annoyance of these pointless words and proceeded to pick up the chicken soup that he had been waiting a full twenty minutes for. Now it was time to drink it, time to quench that hunger...  
"BLEUURRGH!" He spat out the soup in disgust and held the cup at arms' length. Well, it actually didn't turn out to be soup anyway.  
"I DID NOT, wait in a line, weak with starvation, to get curry, roast beef, and ice cream! I wanted chicken soup! CHICKEN SOUP I TELL YOU!" He spun round to face the people in the line behind him. "When I get my hands on- ... on that Rimmer and- and that L-Lister, I will personally make sure that..." He trailed off as he tried to think of a good threat. "I will personally make sure that I get my chicken soup!" He passed his curry, roast beef and ice cream hot pot to the next person in line and pompously stomped off; muttering things about indecent technicians and melted ice cream. The remaining people in the queue (the ones that hadn't already headed off to the restaurant to collect some Do-it-yourself chicken soup sachets) stared quizzicaly at the Officer, then also retreated; leaving the vending machine hissing, clanging, and making bright pink smoke hurl up to the ceiling.

The Drive room was one of the busiest places aboard mining ship, Red Dwarf. It was also one of the most important; special calls were taken from here, vital communications to and from Earth were sent, it was where every part of the ship could be overlooked and checked, where funerals and meetings and parties always took place, it was the best place to look for the ship's computer; Holly, and it was where the ship could be controlled if Holly's autopilot backfired. Then of course, Captain Hollister's office backed onto it.

"This is just getting ridiculous," Hollister was sat slouched on his high-backed chair, staring lazily up at Rimmer and Lister who had just been dragged into his office. Rimmer looked a tad like living death, but Lister was craning his neck to get a peek through a crack in the door.  
"I mean," Hollister continued in his American accent, "When I hire two technicians, I expect that they have the ability to repair a simple toaster. But it appears that you can't even get a grasp with the chicken soup vending machines placed conveniently in several places of the ship. That is to say, they would be convenient if our technicians, that we pay, could repair them when they start to go a bit haywire.  
"However, I cannot possibly expect to keep paying you if you are of no use to the ship, even if you are the lowest ranking members-" He was cut off, as Rimmer quickly entered his input.  
"You're slightly incorrect there, sir," Rimmer said at lightning speed, "There are members that are of a lower rank."  
"And who would that be?" Hollister looked half amused, half unimpressed. Rimmer turned a deep shade of Magenta.  
"Th-the lab rats in the medical testing department."  
The Captain paused for a moment, then carried on as if he hadn't heard anything. "As I was saying. If work doesn't begin to pick up, lads, then I'm afraid it'll be six months in stas- DAVID LISTER! WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU DOING?!"  
Lister quickly spun round; he had been leaning out of the door and was trying to catch the attention of a pretty woman by the name of Kristine Kochanski.  
"Sorry sir, I was just looking outside because..." He glanced at Rimmer desperatley.  
"Because... because..." Rimmer nervously looked around, trying to find something worthy of an excuse. He then spotted something in the Drive Room that caught his attention. "Because the auto-pilot has just turned itself off and Lister, being the loyal... man, that he is, wanted to offer his skill-ful insight to help salvage the situation."  
Lister nodded vigorously in agreement.  
Hollister stiffly rose from his chair and went to have a peek round the door.  
"Very well." He said. "You're excused. But one more thing from either of you, it's six months in stasis!"  
Rimmer and Lister sighed with relief. No stasis just yet!  
"I best go and sort this thing out," And with that, Hollister strode out of the room to organise the chaos outside his office.  
"Come on," Lister pulled Rimmer through the door, across the drive room (which was now screaming with alarm bells and full of nervous looking people) and lead him the way through the many corridors to their dormitory.


	2. Beeblebrox's Tangy Cheese Tortilla's

"Just look at me, Listie," Rimmer was pacing up and down their dormitory, muttering to Lister, "Intelligent, tall, short-haircut, brave (Lister choked on his beer), and I've wasted all these _wonderful _qualities on being a measly..." He pulled a disgusted face, "Worthless, third-rank technician that works on a ship shaped like a bright red rubbish bin. My only superior is a total goit with an IQ of three, and that is no mean fete, I'm telling you now."

"Excuse me!" Interjected Lister, jumping off his bunk, "Since when have _I_ been a goit?! Besides, I have an IQ of eighty-five, actually!" Rimmer raised his eyebrows. Eighty-five isn't much of an improvement. Especially with the average being one-hundred.

"Listie, Listie, Listie. Just face it; you couldn't beat Beryl Andrews at a quiz even if you tried!"

"Who the smeg is _Beryl Andrews_ supposed to be?!"

"She was the of daughter Beeny Andrews... was born without a brain at birth; died three minutes later." Rimmer grinned smugly to himself, then sat down on his bed.

"Erm... Beeny Andrews?"

"Andrews used to work as a porter on the ship. She died at Beryl's birth too," Rimmer's smug little grin had stretched to his ears now. He got up, then strode over to the wardrobe and removed a small box from inside it. _'Beeblebrox's Tangy Cheese Tortilla Snacks'_, it read. They were courtesy of the Jupiter Mining Corporation, and were given to every crew member the moment they joined. Rimmer, taking no notice of the use by date (1st of April, 2302), ripped open the package and placed his hand inside it, looking for a tortilla. There was nothing to be found.

"There's nothing in here! I had purposely saved these for a rainy day! I hadn't even opened the package yet!" Rimmer turned to look at Lister, who had suddenley began to take great interest in Rimmer's _No Smoking_ sign pinned above his bed.

"What?" He said, trying to sound innocent, "I never touched them!".

Rimmer threw Lister an _"Oh really?"_ look.

"Oh come on!" The Liverpudlian cried, "I was hungry! You were out of the room... for... for... you were doing one of those tests for that silly promotion, and my stomach told me that it wanted a bit of attention."

"What was wrong with the cafeteria?"

"Rimmer, it's miles away!" Lister, exasperated, turned to face the mirror. I don't know why. He doesn't know why, either. It was just one of those moments when one is in dire exasperation and does something stupid.

"It's a five minute walk from here, you lazy goit! It would've taken no longer than fifteen minutes to get a snack probably a bit more satisfying than _my_ out-of-date complimentary tortilla snacks! But what annoys me more is that they were given to _me!_ You got your share of them when you joined the JMC!"

"Yeah, but when _I_ joined, which was _after_ you, they had already reduced the contents by fifty grams!"

"Don't make excuses Lister! You don't even know who Beeblebrox is!"

"Of course I do!"

"Who is he then?"

"Erm... he's that guy that owns... Sirius Cybernetics Corporation?"

"Zaphod Beeblebrox is the smegging president of the galaxy!"

"I knew that."

"No you didn't."

"Yeah, well, your greatest achievement is a Silver swimming certificate, and you can't even swim!"

"What's that got to do with the price of tortilla's?!"

Their argument was abruptly interrupted by their mirror. However, it wasn't technically a mirror anymore. Instead of the warped reflection of Rimmer's shoulder, there was the face of Holly; the ship's computer.

"Evening crew members." Holly said in a droning monotone.

"Holly, you picked a bad smegging time!" Rimmer snapped.

"Hey, hey, mind your language!" The computer said.

"Get to the pint! ... I mean - point!" Lister begged.

"Alright, then, but don't rush me," Holly continued, "I've come to alert all crew members that the auto-pilot has failed, and Captain Hollister has taken over steering. Just be warned because he's just been through a lot of stress with some pesky technicians and has gotten himself completely sloshed. Unfortunatley, all the other people capable of steering the ship are mysteriously and suddenley unavailable. I advise that you remain seated for the next hour, but not on the toilet."

Holly flickered from the screen, as it slowly turned back into a mirror.

"Do you think he knew that we were the 'pesky technicians'?" Rimmer queried.

"I doubt it." Lister walked over to the stretch of wall next to the mirror and commanded "Toilet!". A small seat appeared with a sign above it reading: _Now irridiate your hands._

"You're not meant to be on the toilet, Lister! Did you listen to a word of what Holly said?!"

"Not really."

And the next five minutes from that point is not mine to tell.


	3. The Exceptionally Unrealistic Fantasy

"Rimmer! Captain Rimmer!"

Rimmer awoke and opened his eyes blearily. Above him, he could make out the blurry figure of a tall man.

"Oh, it's you." The figure Rimmer could see was in fact Frank Todhunter; a member of crew he severly disliked. But Rimmer was superior to him now, so it didn't really matter that much.

"Captain Rimmer!" Frank went on. "I bring you breakfast!"

"Leave it there, me laddo." Rimmer swung his legs off his bed and rubbed his eyes. Just as Todhunter was about to make his way out of the room, the Captain called to him: "Gather the all the important people in the Drive Room, will you? Can't remember their names, and I don't intend to."

"Aye, aye, captain!" Frank said childishly.

"What do you do again?"

"I take people to and from stasis and explain it to them. I am also a test vigilator!"

"That's why I hate you. Right then, out!" And Rimmer shooed Frank from the room. The Captain changed into his exceptionally spotless uniform, slipped on his exceptionally shiny shoes, and walked out of the room with his exceptionally pompous walk.

"Morning captain!"

"Good day to you, Mr Captain sir!"

"Did you have a nice snooze, captain?"

"It's a beautiful day out there, captain! Venus is shining particularly bright!"

Rimmer strode through the corridors, head up high, acknoweledging each greeting with a quick nod. Three dozen badges pinned to his chest shone brightly from the intense glare of the ship's red lights. The ones that shone the brightest were the two that stated he had a _Bsc_ and an _Ssc. _The crew commonly mistook them for a Bronze and Silver swimming certificate, but what they really stood for (or what Rimmer liked to think they stood for) was: _Best Senior Crew _and _Supreme Senior Crew._

"Hello Arnold."

Rimmer paused abrubtly. He'd heard the voice behind him. He slowly turned around.

There stood the pretty woman Kristine Kochanski in her Red Dwarf uniform. Rimmer smiled. People didn't _usually_ call him Arnold!

"Hello Kristine. Shouldn't you be making your way to the Drive Room?" He wanted this conversation to last for at least five minutes, which is much longer than the average interesting conversation he could keep up.

"Oh, I just was, Arnold," Kochanski replied, "But I thought I'd accompany _you!_ Why would I want to be in anyone else's company?"

"Well, that's just what I do!" Rimmer said coolly, as he put his hands behind his head. "I don't have a clue what's going on, but I'm enjoying it anyway!"

Kristine Kochanski giggled. "You are funny, aren't you Arnold? ... Shall we walk?"

"Certainly, Kristine! In fact, can I call you Krissie from now on?" Rimmer and Kristine, side by side, began the half-completed walk to the drive room.

"Of course! As long as I can call you... Arnie?"

"Arnie's good."

"Good!"

"Good, indeed."

The awkward silence that followed was quickly interrupted by a large belch.

"Arnie!" Kristine gasped, clearly shocked.

"It wasn't me! It was-" Rimmer was interjected by a Liverpudlian voice.

"Alright there, Krissie? You know me, don't you? Dave Lister: Intergalactic cool dude and the seriously handsome!" Lister announced. _Oh no!_ Thought Rimmer. _I'm not having this goit spoiling everything!_ So, in a flash of dire stupidity, Rimmer drove his exceptionally buffed fist into Lister's face. Lister, unrealistically and cartoon-like, spun round three times and dropped to the floor in a heap.

"Oh, Arnie! You're so brave!" Kristine clung to Rimmer's arm as they, once again, began making their way to the drive room.

The only thing to be heard in the Drive Room was the low hum of the ship's engine. Everything else was silent. Stood facing the row of people next to the control panel were Arnold Rimmer and Kristine Kochanski, who were currently being served sparkling wine by the Skutters.

"Good morning my dearest crew of Red Dwarf!" Exclaimed Rimmer all of a sudden, "I'm sure you're all well and enjoying my presence."

A few people sniggered, including David Lister, who was stood in the room despite being knocked out ten minutes ago in a completley different part of the ship.

Rimmer ignored this. "However, it has come to my attention that our vending machines have stopped working. Well, _what the smeg is this all about?!_ I am _so_ angry!" He raised his voice, "And I know _exactly_ whose fault it is!"

The Captain eyed the two people at the end of the line piercingly. They looked slightly nervous.

"YOU TWO!" Yelled Arnold, "MR LISTER AND MR HOLLISTER, YOU ARE THE CAUSE OF ALL MY PAIN! YOU ARE THE TECHNICIANS, _THEREFORE_, IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!"

He then squealed like a baby and jumped on an innocent and unsuspecting cucumber. The glass of sparkling wine fell from his hand and shattered on the floor, covering Kristine in the cold liquid.

"Arnie! Now look what you've done! My shorts are going to smell of wine forever! They were..." Her voice wobbled and her words began to break up, "Th-they w-were b-brand... new!" Kochanski ran out of the room, crying into a tissue. Rimmer looked positiveley distraught. But not because he had lost his peculiar friendship with Krissie, but becuase he now had spikey cucumber all over his shoes. It needed cleaning up. Immediatley.

"Allow me, captain!" Frank, his happiness still untouched, stepped forward to clean up the Captain's shoes. The Skutters didn't like this, so they pushed him out of the way so _they_ could clean the Captain's shoes.

It was quick work; the smallest Skutter was armed with a cloth and boot-polish and set about cleaning up the cucumber, whilst its cousin used a dust-pan and brush to clean up the mess from the floor. All in all, it took about a minute. _Not bad, _thought Rimmer. He decided to stare at the rest of the crew again. However, the sight wasn't as he had expected. When the Skutters pushed Frank out of the way, he had fallen onto the next crew-member in line. The effect was more-or-less the same as a game of dominoes. And the result? Everyone was lying in a heap on the floor. Everyone except David Lister and Frank Hollister. Rimmer's faced morphed into something that wasn't unlike a bulldog chewing a wasp, and steam began to flood out of his ears.

"You are going to get those vending machines fixed immediatley! No if's, no but's, no maybe's. And I shall watch you in the process. Understand?"

"Yes, captain," Lister replied, "I'm glad you mentioned no but's, because I really won't be showing _my _butt in public. I don't know about Hollister here, though. Used to do a bit of modelling, he did."

Rimmer went into friendly mode and turned to face Hollister. "Oh really? Who for?"

"Erm, Hollister I think..." Hollister said in response, "It was just part time, really. I think the photo's were put on some of their bags in the end."

"What is Hollister, anyway?" The Captain asked politely.

"It's this designer brand that was quite popular in the 21st Century. Nothing special, Lelly Kelly was way better."

"Lelly Kelly?" Lister and Rimmer questioned in unison.

Hollister turned bright red. "Oh, let's not go into detail..."

Arnold shook himself all over and exclaimed: "Oh, what the smeg! Get your overalls on and be at the B-deck vending machine as soon as possible! I'll meet you there. GO! MOVE! NOW!" Lister and Hollister jogged out of the Drive Room. Rimmer offered a fresh breath mint to each of the people on the floor then also ushered them out of the room.

"Deary me," He said to himself as he walked into his office, "I really wish people would stop dropping cucumbers. They would go nicely in my morning soup..." Rimmer's voice trailed off. "It's still in my room... Oh well, it's probably something like spring vegetable. Todhunter always gets things wrong."

"Well, Hollister, I have to admit, I haven't heard music quite like this in quite a while now," Lister and Hollister were running in circles next to the vending machine. It was apparentley 'dancing'.

"I know right!" Hollister yelled over the booming music, "You just can't beat a bit of _Engelbert Humperdink_! This song featured in Eurovision, didn't it? You know, that continental song contest thing that you Brits take part in?"

"Yeah, yeah, I used to watch it with Peterson. Why doesn't America take part in it again?"

"America isn't in Europe."

"That was it!" Lister stopped dead. "Turn the music off! Ssh, listen! I think Rimsy's coming!"

Captain Rimmer rounded the corner. Lister and Hollister were stood obediently with no CD player to be found.

"Funny," Rimmer muttered, "I thought I heard music... So, lads," He turned to face his victims, "Fix it."

"Oh, right, yes..." Hollister took a nervous glance at Lister, who returned the glance with a shrug. The truth was, they hadn't a clue how to fix it.

"It's a very simple process," Lister randomly explained, "All you have to do is... err... you know, unscrew the thingy-ma-bob and replace it with a whatsit-called and put in an extra mumhumhum and it's fixed. Easy."

"If it really was that easy, how come you couldn't do it in the first place?" Being captain of the ship, Rimmer wasn't prepared to take any chances. Hollister chipped in this time.

"Because we were out of parts. The nearest Screw-fix is three million miles away. A bit inconvenient, if you know what I mean. But we have a solution... _don't we Lister?"_

"Oh yes," Lister continued, "Yes, we have the perfect solution! It's pretty obvious. Me and Hollister thought, if chicken soup is made out of chicken, and the soup that is produced doesn't turn out to be chicken, then surely the answer is that we need chicken!"

"Therefore, we have with us today some..." Hollister turned, pointing at Lister.

"Chickens!" Three live chickens suddenley appeared around Lister. "Now all you need to do is equip the vending machine with a chicken!" He picked up one in his arms and threw it into the vending machine. It clanked a little, then let out a satisfactory sigh. Rimmer looked amazed.

Genius!

He thought.

_Aboslute genius!_

"Chicken soup!" Rimmer ordered, and he picked up the cup that was dispensed and drank it. "Aah! That certainly is chicken soup! Well done lads! You are dismissed!"

Hollister and Lister, just as amazed, tottered round the corner out of sight. The Captain began to make his way back to his room, still sipping the delicious chicken soup. It was only a two-minute walk from the vending machine.

Just as he was about to enter his quarters, Rimmer tossed the empty cup into a conveniently placed rubbish bin which he swore was never there before.

"Oh my!" He exclaimed as he walked through the door, "I've still got my other soup to drink!" Rimmer rushed over to his desk where Todhunter had left the soup that morning, and clasped the bowl in his hands.

"Down it in three. Right, one... two... three!" He poured the liquid down his throat.

Rimmer's hands weakened. The bowl shattered into a million pieces. He turned sheet white.

"Th-this soup is cold." Rimmer gulped, "Th-this is gazpacho soup!"

The next thing was very unexpected. Rimmer let out an ear-splitting scream that was so loud you couldn't hear it. So it wasn't really ear-splitting, but it wasn't ultra-sound either. It was just odd because the whole thing had been a dream.


	4. Throw in a Chicken

"SCHNOOORRRRGHHHHARRR"

"What the hell?!" Lister scrambled out of his bunk and proceeded to observe his screaming room-mate. Rimmer appeared to be having some sort of fit, and he was writhing in his sheets; his silk pyjamas drenched with sweat.

"Tuh-hod-u-unter! G-g-g-g-g-gar!" He went on.

"Yeah? What're you going to say Rimsy?"

"Gazzy-p-patch-ohhhh!"

Lister shook Rimmer hard. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Arnold had had bad dreams before, and yes, Lister had seen him screaming, but what on _earth_ did gazzypatchoh mean? Was it someone's name?

"Sgug-huh-her!" Rimmer awoke suddenley and propped himself up. Lister's face was about an inch from his.

"_Whoah!" _He leapt back from Lister's face, eyes wide and disorientated.

"Rimmer, are you alright? You were having some sort of fit!"

"I-I'm fine." Rimmer said, calming slightly, "Just a bad dream, that's all... What time is it?"

Lister glanced at the digital clock on the wall.

"Two in the morning." He replied. "Rimmer?"

"_Yes?_" Rimmer eyed Lister suspiciously.

"Who's Gazzypatchoh?"

The technician looked thoroughly nonplussed.

"Erm, Gazzypatchoh?"

"Yeah, you kept saying something about Gazzypatchoh." Lister began to wonder if Gazzypatchoh was actually just some random sounds Rimmer had strung together whilst having his freak-out.

"That," Arnold said quietly, "Is irrelevant. Would you like to hear about my dream?" He might as well kill some time now he was awake; he certainly didn't want to return to the horror in his head.

"Err," Lister didn't know quite what to say, "Yes?"

"Very well. It actually started off as quite a nice dream, you know." Rimmer proceeded with telling Lister about his dream and the next twenty minutes was spent doing so. Lister intently listened throughout, ignoring the increasing heaviness of his eyelids.

"Then I returned to my lovely quarters, that, like I said, were kitted out in the finest silks and expensive technology. I headed over to my desk and grasped the soup that Frank Todhunter had left for me in the morning. I began to drink it, before I realised..." Rimmer gulped at the thought of this painful moment, "Before I realised that it was Gazpacho soup." He gasped for air as if he had just said the whole thing in one breath and clamped his eyes tightly shut. Lister sat there, utterley confused. Dismissing the fact that his bunkmate was close to tears, he was keen to share his thoughts on the dream.

"Well, Rimmer, you know it can't be true because practically everything in it was impossible. Being captain of Red Dwarf, being friends with Kochanski, Hollister being a third-technician, me dancing to _Engelbert Humperdink!_" Lister was counting the items off on his fingers, "Jumping on cucumbers, a childish Frank Todhunter, and then what about the bit when you wanted all the 'important people' to be gathered in the Drive Room? I was also gathered there and it pains me to say it, but I'm not exactly the highest up on the ship. And what the _smeg_ is this thing about with your little obsession with Gazpacho soup?"

Rimmer lifted his head up from his arms and glared at Lister.

"What?"

"You," whispered Rimmer menacingly, "Why are you being nice to me all of a sudden?" There was a befuddling silence.

"Erm..." Lister couldn't think of a thing to say. What was so wrong with being nice? "I was-err-trying to..." He trailed off in exasperation. Rimmer could be so hard sometimes; what was he meant to say? It was a little weird that he had just had a heartfelt conversation with his bunkmate, but it was just a one off. Surely Rimmer wanted comforting from his nightmare?

Turns out he didn't.

"We hate each other! Do you know how much I loathe being in your company? You're a total slob, Lister! Your best t-shirt has three curry stains on it! Just leave me alone!" Rimmer was yelling at this point, but regretted it almost a second later. "Sorry. You are a slob, but I shoudln't have brought it up."

Lister turned to face the mirror again, and just like the last time, for no reason at all.

"Wait! I'm being nice to you again!" Arnold suddenley exclaimed out loud. "You know what? Let's just go to bed and not talk to each other. You're putting me through too much stress, Listie. And no snoring!" He clambered into his bed and shut his eyes immediatley.

"Whatever," said Lister and he too got into bed.

Silence.

Just as he was about to drift off into a deep sleep, there was a noise from below him.

"I'VE GOT IT!" Rimmer announced. It was said so loud, seven people were woken up. "I KNOW HOW TO REPAIR THE VENDING MACHINES!"

Lister decided that he wasn't going to get out of bed again, so instead he just watched everything from his pillow.

"_Of course!_" Rimmer went on, pacing up and down, "How could I be so _stupid_?! In my dream, you and Hollister put a chicken into the vending machine!" He turned to look at Lister, expecting a reaction.

"Oh, come on Rimmer! Don't be stupid! How will putting a live chicken in there help in the slightest? That was just a dream! I think you're tired. You should get some sleep."

"No, no, no! That's not what I'm trying to say!" Rimmer said, "Trust me, it's going to work! I just need your assistance, Listie!"

"Are you positive this is going to work?" Lister was full of doubt and was slightly anxious. Rimmer requiring his 'assistance' for something in a manically tired state didn't sound like a great idea.

"Trust me! It's genius!" Rimmer rubbed his hands together, produced an evil laugh, then dropped onto his bed; falling asleep almost immediatley. His snores were greeted by Lister's tired and scared Liverpudlian voice.

"Oh no."


	5. Hyper space

_Bleep._

_Bleep._

_Bleepity-Bleep. Bleepity-bleep. Bleebity-Bleep._

"Ugh," Lister rolled over onto his back and rubbed his eyes, "Ten more minutes."

"No time! We have fixing to do!" Rimmer was stood in the middle of the room, fully dressed and ready to go.

_Bleepity-bleep. Bleebity-bleep. Bleebity-bleep._

"Switch that smegging thing off!" Lister groaned grumpily. Rimmer strode over to the digital alarm clock and switched it off in an exaggerated manner.

"Happy? Now come on! Get washed and dressed; I'll meet you in the cafeteria in fifteen minutes." He walked out of the room and took care to shout "Off!" before he went. The room darkened.

"Rimmer! I needed them lights!"

"Sorry," Rimmer immediatley walked in again as if he was expecting that response, "ON!"

"What was the point in that?" Lister was now out of bed, rubbing his eyes.

"Just seeing if you were properly awake," His bunkmate replied, "Which is a good thing; you've got a big day ahead of you! Oh... no rush, we can't really do anything until one."

"What time is it now?"

"Seven... in the morning."

"_What?!_" Lister choked, "I don't usually get up until midday!" He turned to look at himself in the mirror. Dark rings circled his eyes. But before Lister could moan to Rimmer anymore, the mirror once again disappeared and displayed the face of Holly.

"Ah, Holly!" Rimmer said cheerfully, "What have you got to tell us?"

"Well you're a lot nicer now, aren't you?" Holly replied, "Anyway, I have to make it quick 'cos I need to go round to the other crew-members too. Hollister's now recovering in the medi-bay; he got so drunk he ended up falling off a Ram-scoop. But good news: the auto-pilot is back up and running again! The problem is, it appears that Hollister sent us completely off course and now the only way to get back on track is to do a jump through Hyper-space."

The two technicians groaned.

"Not to worry," Continued Holly, "As long as you lay down during the process, you should be fine."

A thought struck Rimmer in the head, "Hang on! Holly... aren't _you_ the auto-pilot?"

"Congratulations Mr Rimmer!" Holly smiled, but his eyes stayed blank.

"I can't believe it!" Muttered Lister dangerously. "The auto-pilot... no- I mean _you,_ backfired on purpose?"

Holly paused for a second in mock thought, "Well, that's one way of putting it."

"Why?" Rimmer asked, also in disbelief.

"I promised I'd play Dungeons and Dragons with dispenser twenty-one. I had to get it done some time you know."

"You total goit!" The second-technician exclaimed.

"Oh, is that the time?" Holly gasped, but with a cheeky smirk on his face, "Best dash!"

"Hey! Wait!" Lister yelled, he still had a hundred and one questions to ask him. Unfortunatley, Holly had already gone.

"What an absolute..." Rimmer tried to think of an insulting name. He had already used 'goit'.

"Smeghead?" Lister finished for him.

"Yeah. Smeghead. Anyway, Listie, we should get ourselves on the floor. Hyper-space is _not _a pleasent experience."

The two settled themselves down, lying on their stomachs.

"Oh smeg, oh smeg, oh smeg," Lister whispered, along with a load of other things that I most certainly am not going to repeat. However, Lister seemed comparitivley calm compared to Rimmer; he was sheet white and was shaking all over.

"What's up with you?" Lister asked his bunkmate.

"I d-don't l-like H-hyper-space." He replied. Suddenley, a woman's voice rung round the entire ship.

"Hey, it sounds like Kochanski!" David Lister exclaimed.

"Shut up."

"_Ten seconds until Hyper-space jump._"

Rimmer whimpered.

"_Five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One. Commencing Hyper-space jump._"

The two technicians yelled in sync as they felt their stomachs entering their necks. Their bodies wanted to throw up, but that was impossible as their mouths were now attatched to their spines. Rimmer attempted to say something to Lister:

"Deitpme sah lewob ym!"

"Thaw?"

"Dnim reven hgu!"

Lister's dreadlocks were now being wrapped around his ankles.

"Riah ym! Gems ho!"

Little white dots were appearing in front of their eyes. All the two could hear was white noise. But almost as soon as it had started, everything stopped. Lister and Rimmer were left gasping on the floor.

"Rimmer! Are you okay?"

Rimmer silently shook his head. Lister picked himself up off the floor.

"Would you like a hand, Rimmer?"

"I think I might just stay here for a bit," He replied, still facing down. The woman's voice was once again heard throughout the ship.

"_Hyper-space jump successfully completed. Motion distillness bags can be found in your nearest restroom._"

"Would you like a sick bag?"

Rimmer shook his head weakly.

"I'll go get one," Lister made his way out of the room just before adding: "Wimp."


	6. Rimmer's idea of something funny

The Cafeteria, for the first time since Red Dwarf undocked from Mimas, had a different mood about it. It probably had something to do with the fact that the only people occupying it were Arnold Rimmer, David Lister and Olaf Peterson.

Rimmer was sat by a table in the corner, green in the face and clutching a sick bag. Lister, on the other hand, was stood at the other end of the room chatting to Peterson; completely ignoring his bunkmate's putrid wretching.

Lister gazed around, examining the discarded food and drinks splattered on the floor and the walls.

"Mmm! Vindaloo!"

"Sorry, - what was that?" Peterson asked.

"Oh, I was just commenting on that Vindaloo on the floor over there." Lister replied.

"That's not Vindaloo."

"What is it then?"

"Vomit."

"Oh." Lister pulled a face and edged slightly closer to the corner. "So... what exactly happened?"

"Everybody was eating their breakfast, Holly came and told us about the Hyper-space jump, then that was it. Everyone was on the floor screaming, even Ackerman. I never knew he was such a wimp!" Peterson said. Rimmer gave another sickening wretch.

"I always knew _Rimmer_ was a wimp... Have you got any lager left?"

"Yup," Peterson walked over to the drinks machine, kicked it, and collected the can that had dropped into the slot. He gave it to Lister. "Here you go,"

"Ah, brilliant!" He sighed, taking a swig from it, "All this Hyper-space business is making me thirsty!"

"I don't think Holly gave us enough notice, to be honest," Olaf continued, "Nobody had barely anytime to get down - Lister! What's wrong?"

Instead of Lister replying (he was too busy choking on his beer), a weak moan was heard from the corner.

"The m-machine's broken. I-it d-doesn't keep b-beer in there, th-that's now w-where the toilet w-waste is kept." This appeared all that Rimmer could manage before his head once again dipped inside the sick bag. The 'lager' had now formed a messy puddle on the floor.

Peterson eyed it lazily "'You going to clean that up?"

"Nope."

"Oh okay."

Todhunter suddenley walked through the door, followed by four or so Skutters armed with several motion-distillness bags.

"Well, could you believe that?!" He cried, "I'm not the only human still conscious on this ship!"

"Oh no, not you!" Rimmer complained, "Out of all the people that _could_ be conscious, it had to be _you_!"

"Oh hello, smeghead! I never saw you there!"

Rimmer snarled and clenched his fists, resisting the urge to throw up.

"Would you like another sick bag?" Todhunter queried.

"Yes."

One of the Skutters approached Arnold carefully, dropped a sick bag about a metre from his feet, and wheeled away as quick as it could. The technician over-dramatically reached forward and snatched the bag just in time before he threw up again.

"Wow, this place really has gone downhill," Todhunter's tall figure weaved between the tables. He took out his clipboard and pen, "You're meant to be keeping the Cafeteria in check Peterson!"

Peterson smiled. "That's the cleaner's job, Frank,"

"That'll be _Mr Todhunter_ for you!" Todhunter laughed. "Ah! Skutters; they're handy little things, aren't they?" The Skutters had taken to cleaning up the cafeteria. The one that had given Rimmer a sick bag was currently scrubbing the floor with a wet sponge.

"Oh yeah," Lister said suddenley, "How's Captain Hollister? Is he out of the Medi-Bay yet?"

"Nope. I don't think he'll be out for another few days."

"So who's taking over for the meantime?" Rimmer now looked slightly pale rather than green. His vomiting had eased off a bit. Todhunter puffed out his chest.

"Me!" He exclaimed.

"NO!" Rimmer yelled, "NO! PLEASE SAY YOU'RE NOT!"

"Smeghead," Frank Todhunter took a calm step towards Rimmer, "I think Hyper-space has kerfuddled your brain a bit. Perhaps you'd do well taking a trip to the medi-bay?"

"My name isn't _smeghead_," Arnold whispered dangerously, "It's Rimmer. Arnold Rimmer... Lister! Now is _not_ the time for James Bond impressions! Anyway-"

Peterson sharply shoved a new sick bag into Rimmer's hands as he began to wretch again, "-Sorry... Ahem, me and Lister here are getting to work with those vending machines today, aren't we?"

Lister made a noise of serious disapproval.

"I'm a man, Todhunter, consult the haircut. I don't need to visit no _medi-bay._"

Rimmer threw up into the bag once more. It was now considerably heavier than what it was thirty seconds ago.

"Are you really sure this is necessary?" Rimmer and Lister were strolling down the corridor on V-deck. "I _really _don't think I need to wear a chicken costume to fix some soup vending machines."

"You lack 'workplace spirit', Listie," Rimmer replied, head up high, "It's just a bit a fun. Gets you right into it."

"Not really," Lister muttered, giving the head part of the costume a sharp prod. Rimmer put down the cardboard box full of several large flasks he was carrying and took out his clipboard.

"Right... Let me see... Vending Machine twenty-one... Out of order... Okay then, Listie, in you go!"

"You - _you what?!_"

"In you go."

Rimmer passed Lister the bundle of flasks and a stack of paper cups. Lister looked nonplussed.

"What am I meant to do?"

"Well, all you have to do is get yourself up into that vending machine, and every time someone comes along wanting chicken soup, just pour them a cup and set it down for them. Oh - and if you wear this glove..." Rimmer shoved a grey glove over his bunkmate's hand, "Then nobody will notice a thing!"

Lister looked at the glove in disbeleif.

"No way." He said.

"Now look here, Listie, I don't want you spoiling my career and I'm certainly sure you don't want to spoil yours. How else are we meant to prove to Hollister we're worthy crew mates?"

"Um, _fix the vending machines?!_"

Rimmer looked at the floor, scratched his head, and snapped: "Don't be ridiculous."

"Right then," The scouser sighed and peered into the machine. "Can you give me a leg up?"

Rimmer smiled contently at him and helped his bunkmate into the machine. He then passed up the box of full of flasks and cups.

"Wait!" Lister said once he was settled in the vending machine, "What will you be doing?"

"Oh me? I'll be right here, making sure that everything goes to plan. I'll barely be a yard away. I promise."

"Okay then... To work we go!"

A few seconds passed and Rimmer had made no effort to settle down. Making sure nobody was looking, he silently ran down the corridors and into the dormitory, where he laughed with malice and flopped onto the bed. For the next two hours, brass band music blared from some hidden speakers and the technician had a rather interesting conversation with a talkie-toaster about burning toast. Lister knew none the better; he had dismissed the fact that his friend didn't answer his questions when nobody was around, but decided that he was too busy keeping look-out and was trying hard not to give the game away. Besides, most of the time the vending machine was extremely busy as the crew relished the only place to get fresh chicken soup in months. Rimmer was obviously doing a good job.


	7. Toilet Break

"Captain," Frank Todhunter walked into the Captain's office wearing a serious face. Hollister turned his eyes away from the computer moniter and hurriedly minimized what was on the screen. He stood up in front of it just to be sure.

"Err, yes, Todhunter?"

"You won't believe what's just happened." Todhunter said solemnly.

_Oh dear,_ thought the Captain, _somebody's died. _His senior officer released a sigh which appeared to be painful.

"It's vending machine twenty-one, sir. It's... it's..."

"Hm?"

"It's working again."

"Oh." Hollister was slightly underwhelmed. Then it sunk in. "_Oh._"

Todhunter now wasn't the only one looking at the floor in disbeleif.

"Have you checked any of the other vending machines?" The Captain asked.

"Yes sir, and none seem to be working except number twenty-one. It's packed."

"Well..." Frank Hollister was, in actuality, trying to think of an excuse to get the other Frank out of the room for a while. "Do a re-check. Go round all of them and ask for chicken soup in as many languages as you can. It's a common misconception that vending machines can speak English directly after they are repaired. Um... Mandarin is a good one to try, yes?"

This was a complete and utter lie.

"That's all very well captain, but I cannot speak any other languages." Todhunter said.

"Just make it up," Hollister mentioned, priding himself of his resourcefulness in that particular area at current, "They're very clever, those vending machines. 'Payed a lot of money for them. Oh, and on your way take yourself down to the cafeteria and get a bite to eat. Take your time, there's no rush. Then you can go and pick up Arnold Rimmer and David Lister for me. Please, walk slowly. I wouldn't want my favourite officer tripping over and hurting himself, would I?"

"Erm... no, Captain," Frank Todhunter muttered, feeling that perhaps the medi-bay released him a bit too early, "I will be... I'll be on my way then." And he toddled out of the room, throwing concerned and confused looks over his shoulder.

Hollister sat himself back down in front of the moniter and restored the window.

_The Vort-Void men's hair-cream, _it read, _suitable for those who get that paranoid feeling that it's getting a little too drafty on the back of their head these days._

The Captain scrolled down the page a little, and his eyes widened with excitement at what he saw next:

_DISCOUNT PRICE! Order online now and get 75% off your next purchase of selected items in our hair-cream range. Get it before there's no hair left! *Terms and Conditions apply. Whilst stocks last._

Hollister entered the number nineteen into the quantity box and joyfully clicked _BUY. _The cursor then made its way to the top right of the screen and saw through the words _cheap nail varnish remover _into the search engine.

(Asterisk)

"Chicken soup."

Lister clumsily filled a paper cup with soup and set it on the platform below. He crossed his legs tightly and hoped that chicken soup was going to remain the only liquid being served through the vending machine.

"C'mon Rimmer! It must be your turn now!"

Hearing that there was nobody around, he chanced turning upside down and peeked into the corridor. His eyes stung with the sudden light change and had to shut them quickly. When he opened them again, all he could see was floor and a bit of wall. Rimmer was nowhere to be found. Footsteps started coming into range, which was promptly followed by the materialisation of a pair of feet and legs.

David Lister sharply sat up again when he realised they didn't belong to Rimmer. He was going to have to go, and it certainly wasn't going to be in this vending machine.

If anybody had had the machine in their direct or periphial vision at this given point in time, they would've noticed what appeared to be a very large and comical chicken fall out of it in the fashion of Santa Claus. They would also have noticed (aside from its awkward walk) that it was carrying a box full of flasks and paper cups. But, thankfully, nobody was watching at this given point in time, which allowed David Lister to make a lucky escape.

Partway down the perilously long V-deck was an alluminium overhead sign that made the giant chicken cry and almost whoop in delight. At the top, it said: _For deep-sleep chambers, turn left._

No, this was not the thing that made Lister cry and almost whoop in delight. It was the piece of text below it that was of such great sentimental value;

_Male, female, and disabled toilets right here!_

The techician pulled himself out of the sweat-drenched chicken costume as quickly as he could and dropped it to a messy heap on the floor. Toilets had never called for him as impatiently as this before in his life! _Plus_ Febreeze had just been sprayed in them! Mm, Febreeze! An added bonus!

Now, I suppose you're wondering exactly what fun Rimmer was having in the dormitory during this time.

Perhaps I should've rephrased that...

Anyway, he had gotten bored of talking to the talkie-toaster which is very predictable for anyone, so he had taken to drawing up a brand-new revision timetable. An AstroNavs test was coming up soon and he was keen to get himself booked in for it; which (coincidentally), he had already done. The brand-new revision timetable was going to be exactly the same as the old one except for the colour schemes, as they had _so _obviously been the cause of his failure the previous course.

"Right then," He exclaimed out loud to himself, "First, I shall... revise the common causes of road accidents on Earth in the 20th century... Don't see how that'll do me any good," He added darkly before drawing out a box. "I think a nice turquoise will go with this one very well..."

Things generally carried on like this for the next half-hour or so, until he came to a dreadful dilemma.

"...Snack break... Oh dear. I seem to have run out of colours..." Rimmer tipped the pencils from the pencil-pot onto the table. It was true. There were no colours left to shade the snack break box in the appropriate orange. "Smeg. I _knew_ I shouldn't have added in an extra nap. I can't change it now!"

He did a quick scoot round the room, making sure that there were definitely no other colours available. Well, there weren't.

Rimmer sighed impatiently and flicked the brass band music off (which had gotton itself onto a loop making it unable to play any other track than 'Talli ho, old chap!'). He could leave it white...

No way. Last time there were white spaces and he failed. That's a risk not worth taking. So what else could he do?

Something crossed his mind.

Oh no, not that.

Please not that!

But he had no choice. He... he...

"I will just have to go and help Lister." Rimmer snorted. There's only so many things you can do on your own if you're Arnold Rimmer, and this technician had done them all. So he made his way out of the dormitory and walked (slowly, mind) to the V-deck, right up to vending machine twenty-one.

"Hello Listie!" He called up into the darkness. "It's me. I've been keeping a good lookout for you, I'm just wondering how you're getting on."

There was no answer.

"Err... Listie?"

Somewhere in the distance a spaceweevil sneezed.

"Listen, it's me! Rimmer! Don't worry, you're not going to give the game away; there's nobody else around!" After waiting a few seconds, Rimmer reluctantly clambered into the machine and had a nose around. There were unequivocally no people in there; chicken suit or no chicken suit. There was only one sensation that Arnold was experiencing right now and that was blind panic. Where the hell was Lister?

(Asterisk)

About half a mile away, David Lister emerged from the toilets feeling refreshed, happy, and easy-going. Unfortunatley, the last two emotions only remained in their place for a minute or so up until it dawned on him that Rimmer had deserted his work and left him to feel foolish. Today had involved enough effort already though, and before he went to find the second-technician and strangle him, life called for a nice and cold can of lager.

Lister was just about to set off for the cafeteria when he remembered that the drinks machine no longer served consumable liquids, so set off for the dormitory instead (where he kept a small emergency supply of alcohol and mineral water).

"If that smeg-head's in here I will personally make sure that I am responsible for his death." Lister muttered as he walked through the door, assuring himself that this thought was not an over-reaction. He was, however, relieved to see that Rimmer was not gracing his presence in the room, although stared with a puzzled face at the revision timetable on the desk.

"I think he's gone mad."

Lister strode over to the mini-fridge and lazily took out a can of lager. He sighed with relief as the fizzy liquid went down his throat, freezing everything on its way. He also took note that Rimmer wasn't around to complain about him smoking, so he happily lit up a cigarette to wash the lager down with.


	8. Hollister's Office again

Frank Todhunter went to the cafeteria in the hope of purchasing a ham salad sandwich. He left the cafeteria carrying a potato and mango chutney roll, and wasn't intending to eat it. Now, he _would've_ gotton a ham salad sandwich if he _could_, but this day was the one day of the year where the cafeteria sold only the dishes prepared by the people partaking in the JMC cooking course. Whichever dish is deemed the best is the one that gets sold for the workers to eat. Unfortunatley, this years cooking course students were appaulingly bad at their subject, and therefore the best dish turned out to be something even a mattress wouldn't eat. What's more, Todhunter payed two dollarpounds for this, whereas a ham salad sandwich would only cost him one dollarpound fifty. He was not satisfied.

But, duty called, so he tucked the roll into his pocket for a rainy day and went in search of Arnold Rimmer and David Lister.

Arnold Rimmer and David Lister were not, at current, in the same place as each other. However, they were not far off; just a mere mile away. At the minute, the thing that made Rimmer and Lister divergent was that Rimmer had decided that he wanted to be as far away as possible from Lister, but Lister wanted to be so close to Rimmer that his hands were tightened around Rimmer's neck. If Arnold Rimmer wanted to keep up his streak, it would've been a good idea to take the second staircase, not the first. If David Lister wanted to keep up his streak, he wouldn't have to do much as his victim had just taken the first staircase.

The distance had just shortened by half a mile. One more corner and they would just be in the visibility of each other.

Frank Todhunter was going in a completely different direction until he remembered that he dropped something in the corridor outside the landing gantry, so headed towards there instead.

Rimmer passed under an overhead sign that read: _Landing Gantry: Take the fourth right. _

_Ah, good! _He thought, _It won't occur to Lister to look down that corridor!_

Lister passed under an overhead sign that read: _Landing Gantry: Take the fourth left._

_Hmm... _He thought, _It never occured to me to look down that corridor. Well, it'll be Rimsy's plan then._

Todhunter used his 'senior officer' pass to use the lift up to the Landing Gantry corridor. This made him slighly happier, because he knew only the most superior members could use it, and it would also cut the journey by a considerable amount. Just as he was being hauled up through the darkness, Rimmer rounded the corner and slouched against the wall about a quarter of the way down the corridor. Suddenley he heard someone shouting, and he jerked his head up quickly. The colour drained from Rimmer's face.

"THERE YOU ARE, YOU LITTLE SMEGHEAD!" Lister yelled in fury, "I BET YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS REALLY FUNNY, DIDN'T YA?!" He started running towards Rimmer and carried a slight resemblance of Kill Crazy but on a really really bad day. Just at that moment, Todhunter stepped out of the lift and directly into the path of the two technicians. As if in slow motion, Frank swung his head to the right, saw Lister pounding down the corridor towards him, wiped the silly little smile off his face, and found himself inhaling the dust off the floor. The sound of David Lister's shoes squeaking to a halt echoed so much that it found its way into the Landing Gantry itself.

"Oh... smeg..."

"Well, that's it, Listie!" Rimmer chirped happily, "You are well and truly smegged!"

Todhunter stirred and lifted himself up off the floor, groaning. He looked at Lister.

"You two are wanted in the Captain's office," He said, "Follow me."

"Sorry, did you say you _two?!_ I can assure you Mr Todhunter, it was Lister who knocked you down, not me. He was the one running in the corridor! _And,_ Mr Todhunter, that clearly breaches Space Corp Directive number-"

"It's not for that, Mr Rimmer," Todhunter mumbled, rubbing his nose, "It's regarding the vending machine."

Both Lister and Rimmer panicked at this point; they were under the impression that Hollister had found out about what they had done.

(Asterisk)

"You're working on it, guys," sighed Hollister, who was now (once more) slouched in his high-backed chair, "But one vending machine in -what... a week? Come on. I have contacts that could get about fifty done in a day, and all it takes is one phone call to get them contacts in."

"That won't be neccessary," Rimmer exclaimed out loud.

Hollister raised his eyebrows.

"Captain," He added before continuing, "It's just that vending machine twenty-one was a real bummer, it was well worth the week to fix. I'm sure your contacts couldn't have dealt with that any quicker than us-" He was stopped by Lister prodding him in the back.

"Shut up! Just drop it, okay?" Lister hissed at him. Rimmer pretended to not have heard this and carried on.

"We... well, especially me, we're very devoted to what we do, and once again I cannot stress what a loss it would be to fire us."

"Rimmer... _please!_"

"Be quiet, Listie. And I'm sure we'd enlighten Red Dwarf even more if you promoted me to-"

"Rim-"

"OH WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP, OKAY?! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOU SPOILING EVERYTHING! I'M THE ONE TRYING TO GET US OUT OF THIS MESS!" Rimmer looked just as shocked at his outburst as Lister. He turned to face Hollister, "I apologise, captain," He muttered, voice quavering as he tried to hold back tears, "I-I think it's best if I leave now."

And he scurried, head down, out of the room.

Lister shrugged at Hollister, and the Captain returned it with a gesture that said he may also go.

As Lister slowly walked his way through the many winding corridors and hallways, he begun to think to himself. First he thought about how amazing it was for him to be thinking, and then he moved onto the subject of Rimmer. He hadn't been himself lately; all those evil laughs and the irrational behaviour surely must add up to _something. _Yes, they weren't exactly keen on each other, but no way would he have usually pulled off a stunt like that just to go and make a new revision timetable. It was true; Rimmer was extremely devoted to his work, perhaps a little overly so, and he would never try and skive off like that. And what about just then in Hollister's office? That random outburst? It just wasn't him. And on top of that were the strange dreams, the early mornings, the supposed 'masterplans'...

Maybe, just maybe (thought Lister), that there's something up with Rimmer that he had never known about, or something's happened that's made him like this. Maybe something to do with his family, or work, or... or...

There is the pyschologist in the medi-bay. Lister could book him in for an appointment. But he couldn't tell him until the last minute, or he might retaliate.

Yes. Yes, this seemed like a good idea.

So Lister turned on his heel, and went to the medi-bay.


	9. The same time as my AstroNavs test?

"How are you feeling Rimmer?"

Rimmer eyed his bunkmate suspiciously. "Fine..." He said.

"What's all the fuss about?" Lister was now viewing Rimmer in a different light and was taking care to go easy around him. The psychologist appointment was coming up tomorrow and the last thing Lister wanted was his friend worrying.

"Have an AstroNavs course coming up tomorrow, nine in the morning," He replied, "'Just doing a bit of last minute revision."

"Tomorrow, you say? At nine?"

"Y...e...s..."

"Erm, ah-" Lister jumped down from his bed. "Well, you see... you can't go."

Rimmer stared at him incredulously. "_What?!_"

"You can't go," the Liverpudlian continued, "See, now, tomorrow-"

"Excuse me Lister, but who are _you _to tell me that I can't go to my AstroNavs course?! I, for one, am your superior, so therefore you don't go bossing me around, and two, I don't want to go and be humiliated by you and your 'mates'. Forget it."

"Humiliated? What?"

"You damn well know what I mean!" Rimmer spat, "You're going to play some nasty little 'joke' on me and embarrass me in front of everyone!"

"No! No I'm not!" Lister sighed and paced up and down. Should he tell him?

"Listen, I think I'd best tell you straight up and honest about tomorrow. I've booked you an appointment with a psychologist."

"_Hell, Lister, are you crazy?!_" The second technician screamed. "_What in the smeg did you do that for?_"

This was going exactly as Lister had planned.

"You haven't been yourself lately; you've been acting all weird. Well, I know you're not pleasent to be around any other day-"

Rimmer raised his eyebrows.

"-But there's something different about you an' I just want to make sure you're alright. Alright?"

Rimmer smiled a smile that Lister interpreted for relief, kindness, and understanding.

How wrong he was.

"So..." Arnold muttered dangerously, "You've gone... and booked an appointment... for some bad mentality that doesn't exist... that happens to be at the same time... as my AstroNavs test..."

"Yes," His 'friend' said reassuringly, "Just a small catch. You'll get another chance."

"I HATE YOU! YOU'RE SPOILING EVERYTHING AGAIN! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY SMEGGING LIFE, MY SMEGGING DIMENSION, MY SMEGGING UNIVERSE! YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER GOIT!"

This was not going as Lister had planned.

"Wait, Rimmer!" He called as his bunkmate ran down the corridor, "You see what I mean?! You've done it again! That only happens in FanFictions! Not your life! It's not you!"

Lister walked back inside the dorm and looked (for no apparent reason) in the mirror. To his great surprise, Holly appeared.

"Hello, dude," the face said, "What's up with Arnold Rimmer? I've just been watching him from CCTV. 'Came to eavesdrop."

"I just told him about the psychology appointment I've booked him in for tomorrow."

"An appointment with the psychologist? If it's the one I'm thinking of, then I'm not surprised he ran out screaming!" Holly laughed.

"No, it's not that," said Lister, "It just happens to be at the same time as his AstroNavs test."

Holly laughed again.

"Man, hasn't he done loads of them things? He's _still _going for it? I would've thought that after all those tries he got - you know - 'the idea'."

"Apparently not. I think because all his brothers are really successful he's full of resent. It doesn't help that his parents doubt him all the time. Rimmer just wants to get up to the expectations of his family."

Holly's face morphed into deep thought. "Now correct me here, but that sounds a bit wrong to me. Parents are there to guide the child through the first section of their life, educating them, but ensuring there is happiness and a balanced stability at home. A healthy child is a happy child."

"It smegging is wrong!" Lister exclaimed. He then paused. "Hold on, how come you know so much about parenting?"

Holly grinned and held up a book labelled: _The complete parenting guide for beginners: What you need to know and what you want to know._

Lister laughed and realised that he was actually enjoying being sympathetic towards Rimmer.

"He also does a hell of a lot of revision. He puts so much effort into it; he's so devoted. It's a shame that ol' Rimsy couldn't do better..."

"Well..." Holly muttered slowly, "There might be something I can do the next time he gets round to doing the course..."

"You really think so?" As much as Lister was pleased (and surprised), he didn't want Rimmer to be cheating his way to promotions.

"It's not cheating, don't worry," the computer said, as if reading his mind, "But believe it or not, Arnold Rimmer's not the first of his kind I've come across."

"No way!"

"Yes way dude, and I'm surprised that he doesn't know about this thing if he really is as well associated with the Space Corps Directives as he makes out to be."

Lister looked at the fridge in consternation. "Tell me about it."


	10. The note and Kochanski

The piece of paper was white, lined, and evil-looking. It was being clasped in David Lister's hand along with a pencil (which was also rather evil looking). He sat there, staring intently at the blankness and concentrated; he wanted that pencil to go and write something, but it was simply refusing to do so. The piece of paper was quivering slightly at this point and so was Lister.

_Come on, _he thought to himself, _think!_

He was basically attempting to write a note to the AstroNavs adjudicator to say that Rimmer will be unable to attend his test tomorrow. Lister hadn't worried too much about his appauling writing to start with as he had expected the adjudicator to be someone he didn't know. Unfortunatley, slight anxiety had arisen when he realised that the adjudicator turned out to be Frank Todhunter.

Frank Todhunter. Direct feed line to Hollister.

Ugh.

Eventually, Lister's hand moved slowly across and he began to write.

_To the ajoodicater..._

Not bad, it's a start.

_Arnold Rimer sends al his apollojeez but..._

Nearly there...

_he wil not be abel to go to his test tomorow joo to a..._

Oh smeg. Now he had to try and spell 'psychology'.

_Sycolojee apontment. He sez sory._

Lister heaved a sigh of exhaustion and threw the paper and pencil onto the desk. Still, he was very happy with it; it was probably his best attempt yet. Now all he needed to do was to get it to Todhunter. Where the hell Todhunter was was another matter.

The physical form of Red Dwarf is six miles long, four miles tall, and three miles wide (which is not accounting for the considerabley large asteroid embedded in its underbelly). For someone to walk that six mile distance, I can confirm that it wouldn't be the quickest journey of your lifetime. Fortunatley, ships like Red Dwarf (especially _mining ships_) are usually equipped with convient time savers such as shuttles and lifts and walkways and stairs and...

Well, you get the idea.

The estimated distance, as the crow flies, between Rimmer and Lister's dormitory and Frank Todhunter is roughly three miles. The estimated distance between the dormitory and the nearest shuttle stop is two corridors (you want that in yards, you go and ask Hollister). Lister got to the shuttle stop in good timing. In fact, the timing was _that good_, he arrived at the stop just as the next shuttle was pulling in. To give you a background to the situation, it smelt of the London Underground, it felt like the London Underground, and for all accounts, looked like the London Underground without that nasty tiling, trademark sign, and plastered adverts (these instead were Hologramatic projections of Crapola products on the walls). Lister sat down next to a surly looking bloke at the back of the shuttle.

He grunted.

Two minutes later, the shuttle screeched to a stop and Lister made his way off it as quickly as possible because the surly bloke's breath stank.

"Excuse me," David Lister said suddenley to a random woman, "D'you know where I can find Todhu- err... Mr Frank Todhunter?"  
The woman lifted her head and Lister's heart did a nasty jolt against his ribcage.

-No, don't worry, it wasn't Rimmer dressed in drag-

It was Kristine Kochanski. Krissie. The woman he was going to marry and live on Fiji with and run a farm. He tried to say something but it came out like "Eehrr...".

"Erm, I think so." She replied with a warm smile. Lister could get lost in those eyes...

He tried to ask her where.

"Pardon?" Oh, that beautiful Scottish accent. Or maybe it was Irish... or Welsh... Ah, what the smeg. He didn't care in the slightest.

"Gulstramnerya... higgun..."

Krissie laughed a lovely laugh that filled the air with music and happiness.

"He's down in the cargo hold," She chirped sending Lister into a near comatose state of Euphoria, "That's where I last saw him anyway."

"Hanks... no, schmanks... err-"

"It's okay," Laughter. Wonderful, musical, reverberating laughter. "Bye!"

"Baa..." Lister stood mesmorised for a moment, and then pinched himself (which was, in terms of self-induced stimulation, an indication to "Pull yourself together man!")

...

...

Down in the cargo hold, Frank Todhunter was busy checking and re-checking the large packages stood ominously above him.

"Product of Urinaria corp. A sister company of Crapola inc... That's sounds about right, yes..." He was reading the imprintations on the side of the box to himself, making sure that these were DEFINITELY the right deliveries.

"Dispatch date: 01/04, oh April Fool's day, huh? Dispatch no. 310755... Is that right? ... Oh, here we go, yup..."

Suddenley, bang on cue, a messily folded note slipped under the large, sealed doors.

"What's this then?" Todhunter picked up the note and begun to read it. His face fell into one of bewilderement, then shock, until finally the transition ended with a nice and classic disbelief. He read it aloud to himself:

"To the a- a-due-di-car-tor, Arnold Rhymer sends al' his-" He squinted at this bit, "Apollo geez but he will not be a... arbel to go to his test toe-mo-row j- ah, due... to a... Oh dear, see-co-lo-gee a-pont-ment. He sez - what? - Oh, _says_, he says... sorry."

Todhunter was struggling to get his head round this. It took about five seconds, and then he clicked.

"_Oh!_ To the adjudicator, Arnold Rimmer sends all his apologies but he will not be able to go to his test tomorrow due to a psychology appointment. He says sorry." Frank smiled a smile that represented a sense of achievement and a job well done. "Oh, okay. That's alright then... I always knew that Rimmer was a crackpot anyway..." He added quietly.

...

...

Lister walked back to the shuttle stop smiling a smile that represented a sense of achievement and a job well done. He also noted the swooping space-weevils in his stomach that still persisted from his encounter with Kochanski. When he thought about Kochanski as he was walking (which was basically all the time), he would emit a small, dreamy sigh and grin at everyone and everything there was to grin at. After a while, his thoughts drifted to Rimmer and had to sit down in shock when he realised how kind he was being to him. It wasn't as if he's even nice to Lister, anyway, why care?

Well, Lister didn't care at the minute. He didn't care about anything apart from Kristine Kochanski, and all his mind processes were focused on Fiji, farms, and children... preferably twins called Jim and Bexley. Rimmer teased him about this; he said that for him to think that he was going to marry Kochanski, own a farm, live on Fiji, and then have children together (or in another order to that effect) would be like expecting some sort of human-like race to evolve from cats. However, if we could look into the future at this point and compare the two down to order of probability, Lister would most certainly be marrying Kochanski.

'Course, Rimmer and Lister are just two mere technicians who are almost totally oblivious to the future and would never be able to work out something like this until it hit them straight in the face. Fortunaley for us, we can look into the future by the means of a simple television. How delightful!

Lister's positive feelings were starting to subside as they were now being invaded by Rimmer the Smeghead.

Hold on.

Rimmer.

"_Where the smeg is Rimmer?_" And Lister ran off down the corridor.


	11. Floor 87

If someone was not in the right state of mind, the other who _was _in the right state of mind most certainly would not have left the unstable person to go off on their own for several hours. This poses many risks; someone could be murdered, someone could be electricuted, someone could be shoved in a blender... The list is endless. You should remember that a good four hours ago, Arnold Rimmer went off in a huff because Lister had booked him a psychology appointment (you'd better remember or I think you might need an appointment yourself). At this point of the two protagonists' careers, Rimmer had failed his AstroNavs test no fewer than nine times, and the unstable one thought it (most rightly) better to actually pass it for once. I think it's also worth pointing out that those who aren't in the right state of mind have the unintentional tendency of whole-heartedly denying that there is absolutely nothing wrong with them and then go and sit on the ceiling because 'Lancelot told me so'. Therefore, it was in the nature of the 'Arnold J. Rimmer' to refuse to go to a psychology appointment over his life-dependent AstroNavs course because, in his eyes, nothing was wrong with him and it was a complete waste of tax-payer's money. What he didn't know was that the psychologist was funded by charitable donations from the PRHS (Plural Region Health Services) headquarters in the vicinity of Sagittarius B, who ironically were nowhere near any of the plural regions of the universe (and for good reason too, dark matter bends in a different way and it makes Hyper-space not only an unpleasent experience, but can be risky a lot of the times too.)

Rimmer was squat in a dusty corner of the mining vessel, on floor eighty-seven, counting GELF's. He looked up at the dark ceiling in interest and wondered whether he'd be able to sit on it or not.

"One-hundred-and-one," He counted, "Twenty-five, six-thousand, zero..."

Probably not. He might fall down.

"Nineteen, seventy-nine..." Rimmer trailed off and suddenley yelled loudly in fear. A horrible vision had come before his eyes. Why, it was a type of GELF; a big hairy thing with streaky skin and four-hundred eyes! It started to speak...

"Rimmer? Rimmer, is that you man?" It said in an irritating yet deeply petrifying voice, "What're you doin' down here? Ssh... wha- why are you yelling?"

The GELF started to bend down for its prey and Rimmer squealed as he huddled further into the corner, eyes wide with cowardice.

"I think we'd best get you back to the sleeping quarters,"

He could see that this type of GELF was a highly evolved and sophisticated one; it could morph into different shapes and now it was morphing into what looked vaguely like a human. It reached forward and grabbed him by the arms. By instinct and a sudden rush of adrenalin, Rimmer flung his sweaty fist through the air until it collided with the monster's face. Hard.

"Ouch!" Arnold Rimmer groaned, rubbing his fist (which was screaming with pain).

The GELF seemed unphased by this attack and merely exclaimed, "Now, c'mon. That isn't the type of behaviour your room-mate should be on the recieving end of. You're going to that psychology appointment whether you like it or not, Rimmer. It's not just you I'm worried about, but I'm concerned about my well-being too you know."

Alarm bells rung through the second-technician's head. He had quite clearly heard the word _room-mate_ in that sentence.

Room-mate.

Rimmer might currently be a little bit insane, but he hadn't lost his anal-retentiveness and he damn well knew what to pick out of 'room-mate'.

The supposed GELF was morphing into a human faster now until it finally decided to settle on his fellow worker, David Lister.

"Oh, it's you! You smegging goit!"

"Of course it's me!" cried Lister with a slight laugh. "Who else could it have been?"

"I thought you were a GELF or something."

Lister got Rimmer to his feet and supported his shaking body down the corridor.

"You're definitely very unwell," He said, "Even you can't deny that."

There was an awkward silence for a while as they travelled through the levels and doors. However, about three minutes into it, Lister jumped in surprise as he remembered something.

"Oh, and before I forget, I managed to persuade Holly to do a private AstroNavs re-sitting for you once you've recovered."

A sensation filled Rimmer with something he hadn't felt in a long time. Lister actually _cared_ about him. Deep down beneath all the self-loathing, hatrid, and twentieth-century telegraph poles, he finally felt loved.

And it was good.


	12. JMC Weekly

It was the morning of the appointment, and Lister stood by the desk watching his friend rock back and forth on a chair, muttering things about Hammond organ music. He found it sad watching someone's mentality deteriorate before his eyes; it was as if Rimmer was slowly turning a child again and he was, indeed, losing his memory, experience, and life-skills in a matter of days.  
Lister also considered it unbelievabley lucky that he had got the appointment so early on. Things only started to get really bad yesterday, and if Rimmer was left any longer... Well, he tried not to think about what might happen.  
The psychologist was to see them at eight-thirty, which was in one hour's time. However, they were advised to come half-an-hour in advance in order for them to sign-in and avoid any complications. The two had already eaten breakfast; Lister had preserved something from the cafeteria the night before-hand in the fridge as he didn't want to be taking Rimmer anywhere before the trip to the medi-bay. In fifteen minutes, they would be catching the shuttle to Rimmer's fate. In fact, it's not that far a walk, but the second-technician was at risk of trying to climb up the walls and hurting himself if he sustained such physical activity for any longer than five minutes.  
"I think it's time to put your jacket on, Rimmer," Lister addressed him as if he were a five-year-old.  
"Okay." He replied, not looking up and continuing his rocking. David Lister walked over and picked up the brown jacket labelled 'second technician'. He slipped it on over Rimmer's shoulders, zipped it up, and proceeded to tying his shoelaces for him. This was a job as Rimmer refused to sit still, but after five minutes, they were in two perfect tight little bows.  
For the remaining ten minutes, Lister lazed around and asked his friend questions like: "Are you sure you don't want another glass of water before we go?" and "You don't need the loo do you?". Rimmer, on the otherhand, gazed at the floor and hummed his favourite organ tunes, answering to none of the questions.  
Eventually, the time came for them to leave, and Lister guided Rimmer out of the room, ordering him to stay where he was whilst he sorted a couple of things out.  
"Lights." He said, and there was darkness.  
"Door." He said, and there was security.  
Lister then proceeded to explaining the plan to Rimmer, "Right - look at me - okay, we're going to go to the medi-bay now. We'll be taking the shuttle, but we'll also have to walk a short distance too, so try and resist the urge to sit on the ceiling because you will hurt yourself. Hollister and Todhunter know about you so you don't need to worry about that, and you won't be doing any work today; just resting up after the appointment."  
"Okay." Rimmer replied with the exact same air as he did ten minutes ago.  
The two walked the couple of corridors to the shuttle stop and sat down on a metal bar whilst they waited for their ride to show up. Lister looked around and noticed Petersen (who should've been in the cafeteria) chatting to someone at the other end of the station. He felt a pang as it occured to him he hadn't seen or spoken to any of his mates in ages because he was helping Rimmer. He wasn't, of course, going to tell them why he hadn't communicated with them for so long as they would make fun of him. They thought that anybody sad enough to help 'that weirdo' was worth being put in a mental institution themselves, or so they said.  
To tell the truth, however, Lister played along with this at the time; he laughed at all the snide jokes about Arnold, he joined in making rude names behind his back, and he generally shared the dislike of the guy, not to mention all the times they had publicly humiliated Rimmer and left him to deal with the hurt on his own.  
Lister was at the recieving end of another pang, which hit him harder than the previous one. He couldn't get his head round the simple fact that he had spent the time with his friends being hurtful towards Rimmer, and moreover (this made him feel really sick), he had enjoyed it. And now his room-mate was seated next to him, trapped in a world in which Lister couldn't access, waiting for a shuttle that would take him to get help.  
Oh smeg. He felt bad.  
He felt _really_ bad.  
It was after what felt like years of embarrassing and painful waiting that the shuttle finally arrived. Lister guided Rimmer onto it by dragging him by the arm, and had to sit ontop of him to make sure that he wouldn't get up. He did feel slightly awkward in front of everyone, but he dismissed the strange looks with an expression that clearly said: "I'm sat on top of someone. Get over it. It's normal."  
Rimmer obviously thought that Lister was trying to play some game, so he kept continuously laughing and yelling: "Okay Listie! You're it now!"  
Lister kept on sitting; pretending he didn't hear anything and that there was nothing wrong with his friend whatsoever. He did keep pretty cool about the situation, but just hoped and prayed that Kochanski wasn't on board right now watching him.  
Ahh... Kochanski...  
Lister had accidently leant onto the shoulder of the person next to him, and jumped up immediatley, apologising to him over and over again.  
I really need to stop doing that, he thought.

...  
"Name?"  
"Howard Entwhistle."  
"Okay, please take a seat in the right-hand corner. Don't eat the biscuits; they're for the people in the left-hand corner."  
The man shuffled over to the seating area, clutching his hand as if it were very painful. Lister noticed that it was wrapped in bandages, and there was one bit where the bandages came away...  
Ew. The sight was repulsive. Lister tried not to start wretching, and was thankfully rescued by the simple word: "Next!".  
The woman at the desk had a voice that was hoarse, loud and anything but lady-like. And if looks could match the sheer horror of the voice, then the two went hand in hand together. It was also worth noting that she sprayed the computer in front of her with spit every time she spoke, which Lister made sure he was not in the firing line of when he went to sign Rimmer in.  
"Name?" she croaked.  
"Err..." Lister gestured behind him towards his friend. "Arnold Judas Rimmer."  
The woman consulted the moniter, and laughed when the result came up.  
"Okay," she said, "please take a seat in the left-hand corner. Help yourself to the biscuits."  
The two sat down, this time in their own individual seats, and read some magazines whilst they waited for Rimmer's name to be called. Well, to say 'read', I really mean look at the pictures.  
It was a _JMC Weekly magazine_, which sported a large photo of Captain Hollister on the front. Hmm... crew from Red Dwarf very rarely made it onto the front page of _JMC Weekly_. To the bottom right of Hollister, large-ish text read: "I think I'm going mad." Lister widened his eyes in surprise, and quickly flitted to the article inside. From what he could barely make out, this is what it said:  
_JMC mining vessel Red Dwarf is currently taking its third trip through Galactic Sector Five, and ships important materials to and from planets and moons. It currently ranks just #22345 on 'Kirk's best working ships to be on' list (you can find that in March's issue), and has had only ninety-eight catastrophes since it last undocked from the moon, Mimas. The captain of this obviously glamourous and well-kept vessel is that of Mr Frank Hollister, and we thought we'd zap on over there and have a chat._  
_On first arrival, we saw that everything was red, and the title 'Red Dwarf' was painted shoddily on the exterior. However, you should never 'judge a book by its cover' as they always say, so we entered with high hopes and happy spirits. On the interior, things were pretty much the same with the exception of lots of vending machines that appeared not to be working, but we pressed on to see what else we could find. It's worth mentioning that the crew seem fairly happy and they wear a beige uniform with funny ties and embroidered patches. This makes a change from the uniforms most of us JMC employees are used to; brightly coloured skin-tight suits with polished badges and reflections of Star Trek. Nonetheless, the 'Dwarfers' seem unphased by it, so it's probably a good idea to drop that now and move on to what we actually came for._  
_The interview with the Captain was most certainly a colourful one; he's a great guy to be around, especially when he's dishing all the dirt on what really goes on inside the fine establishment._  
_"It's pretty damn boring!" Hollister laughs, speaking to our onboard correspondent, Jamie Tarshnucker, "The guys in the Drive Room are alright, I mean. But, all-in-all, you get good pay for a job well done. All our crew are well catered for, even the ones in the secret criminal institution 'The Tank'. Oh - whoops! That ain't so secret now! (Laughs). However, getting onto more serious matters, I would like to point out that Red Dwarf might not be all marble and glass, but we do our job, and we totally kick-ass at it!"_  
_We asked him whether working on Red Dwarf came with any 'mental drawbacks' -_  
_"You kinda get a bit institutionalised and go stir-crazy. You don't know when the next stop off's gonna be, and even then, it'll only be for a couple of days or so." After a pause, he added: "Probably. (Laughs). Speaking of mental though, I think I've gone a bit mad me'self. 'Kept doing a load of crazy things, and my senior officer Frank Todhunter* took me to Dwarf's medi-bay with the impression that I was drunk! (Laughs). I felt like it too, but the doc kept me in a few days and told me that I wasn't drunk - no - but I had caught this sorta virus thing! He said that I probably caught it whilst intercepting a load of food packages from a delivery-ship. The lads on there weren't the usual bunch, 'from the Vort-void of Qvarne or something, and it's most likely I've picked up some sort of alien thing while I was on-board. Anyway, the doc then went onto telling me that it's probably been spread around the ship and before you know it - BHAM! - everybody's gonna come down with this virus! Although, no cases have been reported yet, I'm sure it'll only be a matter of days. It will be reassuring for my crew to know, however, that only certain people can come down with it so I'm guessin' loads are already immune. But apart from that, Red Dwarf is pretty good. Boring, but good."_  
_We decided to tie the interview up there - well, after we'd finished our champagne! This leaves us with the conclusion of 'is the vessel that nobody's heard of really as good as it's scratched up to be?'. Do you wanna be part of a crew that's infected with an alien virus?_  
_That's what I thought._  
_In next week's story, we'll be chatting to some arm-chair GELF's to see how they feel about the current state of Galactic affairs. Until, next time,_  
_Jupiter Mining Corporation._  
_* Frank Todhunter - nominated for JMC prize: Most notorious hair-flick._  
Lister replaced the magazine on its stand and leaned back into the seat slowly. After mulling over what he had just read for a few minutes, Lister decided that the affair was just one of those major coincidences and dismissed it. Besides, if anyone was to be immune, it had to be Rimmer.  
Lister came to the appropriate conclusion of _to smeg with that_, and plentifully helped himself to the biscuits.


End file.
